


argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest forever

by spock



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Divergence, Consent Issues, Drug Use, Greek Myth Fusion, Historical Fusion, Identity Porn, M/M, Power Dynamics, Prostitution, Roughhousing, Under-negotiated Kink, Yuleporn, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: How dreadful the knowledge of the truth can be, when there’s no help in truth.(Roman has never been able to leave well enough alone.)





	argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arbitrarily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarily/gifts).



Roman’s high and bored. It’s been his default state since he turned whereabouts sixteen, sure, but suddenly both are crushing down on him in a way that seems all-encompassing. He feels out of his mind with it, strung out on it, utterly and completely trapped by it.

There’s something else that’s been with him since back then too, a vague mention in a well-hidden file that had been tucked deep into the back of his father’s study, a room Roman’s still forbidden from spending any time alone in. He had learned how to jimmy the old-fashioned lock on it before his balls had even dropped, and used every chance he’d gotten to go in and devour the contents of every one of his father’s secrets, such as they were.

There had only been one that seemed worth a damn, that reference in a manila folder containing a single sheet of paper. Roman thinks about it sometimes, an equally vague thought that he never puts much stock in. Tonight, though, it’s all he can think about, and he’s high enough to consider that as some sort of cosmic sign.

He gets up from the couch and tears his living room apart looking for his phone. After twenty minutes he finds it sitting next to the cushion he’d been sitting on. “Oh sure,” he says to it, “now you wanna show up.”

Thumbing through his contacts, he skips Shiv and goes for Connor. His sister’s always been smart enough to sniff out his plans and want in on them, and Roman isn’t in the mood to give up whatever leverage this will likely turn out to be. Besides, what he needs is someone that’s eager to please. He hits _call_.

“There’s my favorite big brother,” he says, before Connor can get a greeting in. “What private investigators do we know that can keep their traps shut? I gotta track down some bitch who gave me crabs.”

* * *

It takes nine months for anything to turn up, long enough that Roman nearly forgets making the call in the first place. The reminders he gets come during the few times he’s forced to check his credit card statement in want of figuring out where the fuck he’d been the night before, spotting a recurring charge for a couple grand that takes him progressively longer to recall belongs to the P.I. he’d retained. When he finally gets a call from the investigator that they should meet in person as to not leave a paper trail, he starts to suspect that he may have stumbled onto some real cloak and dagger shit.

Roman claps his hands together before stretching them out in front of him, making grabby hands at the folder clutched to his P.I.’s chest. “Come on man, what the fuck. Let’s push out this fucking baby!”

“I want to say upfront that this is the only copy of what I’ve found,” Mark — Matthew? — says. “I deleted all my records once I compiled it for you.”

“I can tell you’ve taken this real seriously, Michael,” Roman says. “Just give me the fucking deets already.” He snatches it from him when the guy finally does.

File in hand, Roman flips through it. There’s pictures, ones from a long time ago, as well as recent surveillance. A birth certificate, school and employment records, tax filings, the results of genetic testing. Everything about the report is so fucking detached, referring to a _subject_ without giving them a name. He flips back to the birth certificate he’d skipped earlier, and there it is, the name: Kendall.

“What the shit.” Roman lets the file drop down to his lap, looking down at it with wide eyes. “He’s got _another_ kid?”

Marvin clears his throat. “It would seem that, before his first divorce was finalized, Ms. Collingwood and Mr. Roy —”

“You’re still here?” Roman sets the folder onto his living room table and stands. He flaps his hand in front of him with impatience, saying, “I can read; I don’t need your fucking play-by-play.” It takes him a moment to realize he probably shouldn’t leave it on that note.

Max is in the elevator by the time he catches up to him. Roman has to slap his hand on the door to keep it from closing so he can get his piece in. “Hey, Murph,” he calls, voice a whisper so that it won’t carry to the CCTV cameras dotting the hallway. “Don’t, like, mention this to anyone, yeah? Ever? Finding a hitman in this godforsaken city can’t be too fucking hard.”

That done, Roman races back to his apartment, door slamming behind him as he lunges for the table.

The kid was born well after Connor, but before their dad and Roman’s mom had gotten hitched. Logan had still been with Connor’s mom, caught in a prenuptial agreement that _certainly_ would have bagged her more than she had actually received, should anyone have had concrete proof of an extramarital affair, like, say, a child born to a mistress.

Just like that, Roman isn’t the second eldest anymore.

He reads the report forwards and back, studies it more than he’d ever bothered with during his first two tries at college. Kendall had been a logistical problem if ever there had been one. And it looks like Logan had sorted it, shifting the infant into an orphanage without either his or Caroline’s name on the birth certificate. Roman can’t help but wonder if an abortion would have been kinder, but kindness has never been amongst the accusations regularly lobbed at his father.

Kendall worked odd jobs into his early twenties, hitting a stint of unemployment that overlapped neatly with four trips into various rehab facilities in as many years that didn’t seem to stick until the fifth. That, or he finally gave up on them, since he hasn’t been back to one since.

Nothing about his financials point to Logan having given the kid a dime. It doesn't look like their father has ever acknowledged Kendall in the slightest, his involvement in his second son’s life entirely contained to that single outdated address printed on a sheet of paper hidden away in the manilla folder pushed back to the darkest recesses of his home office.

Which isn’t to say that Kendall’s poor. No, Roman’s brother has made a nice little nest egg for himself over the last decade, thanks to his current line of work.

Roman’s currently on hold, waiting for whoever owns the sensual voice working the front desk to get in touch with Kendall’s agent.

Finally, the transfer connects. “I’ve been told you’re interested in Kendall, Mr. Roy?”

“Fucking right I am,” Roman says, and immediately wants to punch himself in the face. “Uh,” he continues, “so how do we set this up? Do I just give you my card details like he’s a pizza, or,” and trails off.

* * *

This is going to be the first time in his entire life that Roman’s actually shown up to an appointment early. He lets himself into the room Kendall’s agency booked for them and —

Kendall’s inside already, sipping a glass of water where he sits on the couch. He looks up when Roman enters, but doesn’t bother to stand.

“What’s up, cocksucker.” Roman doesn’t keep the petulance from his tone, put out by his brother stealing his thunder right from the jump.

“Roman Roy,” Kendall says, and Roman just about has a fucking stroke. When — what — all rush through his mind, but Kendall keeps on talking. “I’ve read all about you. The Society pages failed to mention that you like dick.”

Roman shrugs and tries to remember how to breathe, feeling like his skin is too tight. “What can I say, I’ve got layers.”

The smile Kendall gives him is pleasant enough, though he doesn’t say anything else. Roman fidgets for a while before he can’t take it anymore. He collapses on the couch perpendicular to Kendall’s, kicking his legs over one arm and resting his head on the other side so that he can stare his fill. “So,” Roman says, and then finds himself at a loss for words. Man, he really should have prepped a script or something.

“Men typically like to tell me about their days, to start off with,” Kendall instructs. “Is this really your first time with an escort? I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Roman can’t tell if Kendall’s judging him over that or not. “Shut up,” he says, before going on to tell Kendall about the board meeting he’s skipping out on to be here. How he hasn’t been to any company events since his father fired him from one position too many, for Roman’s liking. Roman went from being on 30 Under 30 lists by wont of his name alone to becoming a regular fixture in the gossip rags, until he’d become so seedy that they’d stopped featuring him there too, either because they’d been acquired by his father or too scared of what might happen if they went after Logan Roy’s wayward son.

Kendall doesn't speak beyond sympathetic hums until it’s clear that Roman has finished. “Your dad sounds like a real dick,” he notes.

“Yes,” Roman practically shouts it. “Yes, exactly. Like, you have no fucking idea, man, but yes, exactly. Thank you.” It’s a perfect opening, the stage set for Roman to drop the news on him, both of them primed to turn this into a _can you believe this motherfucker_ long-lost fraternal variety hour.

Kendall sets his now-empty glass on the side table closest to him and then stands, toeing off first his right shoe, and then the left. “So, are you ready to fuck now or what?”

Roman blinks. “I’m sorry,” he says. “What?”

He watches as his brother undoes his fly and then proceeds to cross the short distance between their two couches and seat himself on Roman’s lap, resting his forearms on either side of Roman’s head,their faces close together. “I’m a prostitute, Roman,” he says. He hasn’t bothered to lower his volume any, even though they’re so close that Roman can practically taste his words as he speaks them, and Roman can feel the reverberations in his chest even though their only point of contact is Kendall’s ass on his thighs. “What did you think was going to happen?”

There isn’t much he can say to that. What had he been expecting, Roman wonders. That he would tell some guy he’d only just met that they were brothers? Surprise, Kendall, you lived through what looks to be a very fucked up childhood — which, join the fucking club — right on the poverty line in multiple orphanages and group homes that seem to’ve had you running headfirst into a life of hard drugs and hooking, while the rest of Logan Roy’s kids at least got a couple million and a legacy to fall back on for their traumatized trouble. A legacy that would have been thrown into shambles if Logan’s first wife had known that Kendall existed. Surprise, Kendall you were the sacrificial lamb for our parents’ sins, yet another stepping stone on our father’s path to greatness.

As if that wouldn’t land like a fucking ton of bricks. What in the absolute fuck had he been thinking.

He unfolds his hands from his chest and reaches between them to play with the waist of Kendall’s unzipped slacks. “I wanna be on top,” he says. Roman figures that he can have this one thing and then never speak to Kendall again, one of his father’s secrets that Roman will have to take to the grave.

Kendall leans in that last little bit, until the tips of their noses are touching. When he smiles, it’s predatory. “No, you don’t.”

He shifts back onto his knees and then stands again, walking back to the couch he had claimed as his own, retaking his original seat. Roman’s lap feels weirdly cold without him sitting on it. “Come here,” Kendall instructs.

“What the fuck,” Roman says, but he gets up. Slowly, tentatively, he walks over to Kendall. “Alright, I’m here.”

“Get on your knees.” Kendall stands again once Roman does as he’s been told, settling onto the floor. Kendall shoves his pants down to his ankles, following them up with his fitted briefs. His dick is at half-mast already, perfectly level with Roman’s face.

He sits again, and then gestures to his dick. “Well,” he says. “Get to it.”

“Seriously.” Roman places his hands on Kendall’s hairy thighs for balance but can’t bring himself to actually lean in. “I’m the one paying for this. I’m paying to suck your dick.”

“You’re paying me to give you what you want,” Kendall corrects. “This is what you want.”

Kendall’s fully hard now, just from the conversation and, Roman guesses, the way he’s sort of been breathing on Kendall’s dick. “This is what I want,” Roman says it like he’s testing out the idea, pitching it not just to Kendall, but to himself.

“Now you’re getting it.” Kendall’s got that almost benevolent smile of his on again. He threads his fingers through Roman’s hair and starts applying a steady amount of pressure, pushing Roman’s head towards him. “Now be a good boy and suck my fucking dick, Roman.”

Roman opens his mouth and does as he’s told. His brother is some kind of sex savant; the moment he’s gotten Kendall’s dick into his mouth, Roman realizes that yes, this is exactly what he wants.

It seems to be what he’s built for, too. He’s able to get Kendall all the way into the back of his throat with only minimal gagging, a sensation that Roman realizes has himself getting hard. Kendall steps out of his pants and tilts his right leg so that it’s between Roman’s where he’s sitting with his own legs folded on the floor. Kendall’s shin presses against Roman’s dick through his pants; Roman raises up a little so that he has the leverage to hump against it. It puts his head at a different angle, Kendall’s dick just that much farther down his throat, Roman’s nose buried into Kendall’s pubes.

He comes before Kendall, humping against his leg as Roman loses himself in sucking his brother’s dick, and it’s mildly humiliating. He can’t recall ever hitting this particular octave of moan in his life.

Kendall’s free hand grips against the curve of Roman’s slackened jaw. “Stay focused,” he says, getting his feet under him again as he starts to thrust into Roman’s mouth.

“Fuck you,” Roman tries to say, focusing on his tongue and careful not to move his jaw too much. “Doing you a favor here, pal.” He can’t help but catch his teeth against the sides of Kendall’s dick as he speaks, light grazes that have Kendall hissing, the hand he still has clutching Roman’s hair gripping impossibly tighter as he comes inside Roman’s mouth.

Kendall pets Roman as he comes down. Lost in his own come-drunk state, Roman allows himself to luxuriate in the feeling of Kendall’s fingers for a while before Kendall’s quiet laughter brings him back. He pulls away, letting Kendall’s softening cock slip from between his lips.

“What?” he demands. His jaw aches in a way that has him wanting to get hard again, which is new, something he isn’t at all sure how the fuck he’s supposed to feel about.

Kendall just shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, before caving to Roman’s glare, seeming to remember that he’s on Roman’s dime even if Roman’s the one on his knees. “I was just thinking about what the world would say if they could see you now. What do you think your dad would do?”

And isn’t _that_ a fucking thought.

* * *

Kendall’s waiting for him again as Roman walks through the door the very next day.

“That was a quick turn around,” Kendall says.

Roman nods. After a beat of silence he says, “So, I bought out your other contracts.”

There’s silence as Kendall just blinks at him. “Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says. “What?”

“Let’s not make this a thing.” He jogs over to the carafe set up on the desk just under where the television is mounted to the wall, pouring himself a glass. He did a couple bumps of coke on the drive over, and it’s starting to kick in. He downs the water in one long pull, some of it slipping past his lips to drip down and dampen the collar of his shirt. “Dick is dick, right?” He asks, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “One dick has to be better than a lot of dicks. My dick’s good, right?”

He turns, finding Kendall typing away at his phone.

“Hey,” Roman whines. “I’m paying top dollar for your time here, motherfucker.”

“Give me a moment.” He types a bit more, before he lets out a long whistle from between his teeth that instantly grates of Roman’s nerves. “Well your check apparently cleared, so yeah, your dick sure is amazing, boss.”

Roman isn’t about to let Kendall’s sarcasm ruin his mood. Even if Kendall isn’t aware of it, Roman’s doing him a huge favor here. Now Kendall doesn’t have to fuck whatever weird creeps want an over-thirty, nerdy looking hooker. He now has the pleasure of getting paid to interact with Roman’s young, beautiful dick, a transaction that clearly should be working the other way around. Speaking of.

“Things are going to go a little bit different today, pal,” Roman says. This is going to be his one good deed in life: giving his father’s illegitimate child some of the family fortune, hookup by hookup. Maybe Kendall would change his tune if he knew he was fucking his younger brother, sure. Roman isn’t ever planning on telling him that, though, so it’s moot.

Kendall caught him off guard before, what with him being a seasoned whore andRoman being an innocent waif in comparison. He’s not about to let that happen again. It’s Roman’s rule from here on out.

Or, that’s the way it was supposed to be, anyway.

Roman’s bent in half on the hotel bed, knees up by his ears as Kendall alternates between sucking his dick and eating his ass. “Fuck you,” Roman chants, over and over. Everything feels a million times more intense with the drugs singing through his veins, but even that doesn’t explain why he feels so helpless when Kendall’s the one servicing him this time.

“Boy,” Kendall says, pulling back from Roman’s ass to speak. “You sure are loud when my dick isn’t shoved down your throat.”

“Fuck right off,” Roman fires back. “Get my dick back in your mouth, you fuck. I wanna come on your stupid face.”

Kendall gets one of his hands around Roman’s dick and starts jerking him off in quick, efficient pulls. He leans closer, so that his cheek rests right against his own knuckles, hand effectively stroking his face as he jerks Roman off. The head of Roman’s dick keeps catching against the stubble at the edge of his jaw where it starts to curve down to meet his neck. “You wanna come on my face?” Kendall asks. His tone makes it sound like he doesn’t think Roman has it in him, which makes the fire roaring low down in his belly flame up higher. “Do it already, then.”

“Shit.” Roman pants, closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of Kendall’s hand on him, the mental image and subsequent satisfaction he’ll feel when he paints his brother’s face with his come. “Shit, fuck,” he says again.

When he opens his eyes, he finds Kendall staring back at him, face easy and open.

“Yeah,” Kendall says. “I didn’t think so.”

He keeps working Roman’s dick as he stuffs two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them for a moment before pulling them out, wasting no time in shoving them right up inside of Roman, bottoming out at his knuckles in one slick push.

Kendall strokes inside of him with his fingers, motions so much slower than the rhythm he’s using to work Roman’s cock. It doesn’t even feel like he’s trying to find Roman’s prostate, more like he’s moving them for the hell of it, aimless. “Alright, Rome,” Kendall says. “You can go ahead and come now.”

Roman does, like a goddamn animal trained to perform on demand. He paints Kendall’s face with his come, but it doesn’t feel like the power move he’d imagined it to be earlier.

Kendall pulls his fingers free of Roman’s body, stops stroking Roman’s sensitized dick. He uses the hand he’d had up Roman’s ass to jack himself off, shifting up the bed so that his and Roman’s faces are level. Roman’s mouth opens on instinct, licking away the mess from Kendall’s face.

The mess he put there. “Oh, what the fuck,” Roman whispers, mostly to himself, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Kendall hears him, huffs out a few laughs that sound more like choked-off grunts than anything else, and then cums onto Roman’s stomach.

Looking down at the mess that’s been made of him — ass and thighs slick with Kendall’s spit, stomach wet with Kendall’s come, his chin and chest stained with his own — Roman feels almost lost. “How in the fuck,” he asks, “does this keep happening?”

Kendall slaps him on the thigh and then leans off the bed, fishing one of the towels folded on the chair nearby to dry his hands before flipping it over and mopping up Roman’s stomach.

“I told you, Roman, I’m just giving you what you want. That’s how this whole thing works.”

Roman smacks his lips together and lets his weight sink into the mattress as Kendall cleans them both up. “I don’t think I like it.”

Kendall fucking shrugs, like it doesn’t matter to him. “You’re free to end this whenever you like.”

Would he be so fucking cavalier about it all, Roman thinks, if he knew it was his goddamn brother he was shrugging off? Roman doesn’t want to be thought of as just another bullshit client. It’s why he’d paid out the ass for Kendall’s exclusive rights in the first fucking place.

It takes him a minute to notice the playful smirk on Kendall’s face, to clue in that he’s fucking _teasing_ him. “Although, I don’t fuck around with refunds,” Kendall says.

“You’re such a bitch.” Roman punches Kendall hard in the shoulder, way harder than he’d ever dare with Connor, the pissbaby. Kendall takes it in stride, trapping Roman in a headlock that comes far too easy for Roman’s liking. “Stop,” he whines, trying to worm his way out. “Fucking — quit it, Jesus!”

Kendall laughs at him. “So you can dish it out,” he notes, “but can’t take it? Why am I not surprised.”

Roman goes limp, the way he’s learned to do the few fucking times Shiv or Connor managed to pin him, taking away the fun of it all by giving up on the fight. Unlike them, Kendall makes a seamless transition from chokehold to loose embrace. Roman doesn’t hate it.

“Speaking of dishing it out,” Roman says, well after any period of time where such a segue might have seen nonchalant. “I’m, like, responsible for you now and shit, so just let me know if there’s any stuff that you need, or whatever.”

Kendall’s still fucking laughing at him, like he finds Roman cute. Roman wants to punch him in the fucking dick, but refrains, because he might have a use for it later, even if the man attached to it is a fucking worthless asshole. “I’ll write up a list,” Kendall promises.

* * *

Roman’s first order of business is getting Kendall set up in an apartment that he pays for. No more clandestine hookups at the swanky hotel they’d met at twice before, and no more of the borderline shoebox, shithole of an apartment that had been listed in Kendall’s file as his home address.

Kendall moves in without any fuss, doesn't even complain when Roman mentions that he’s got the spare key, just shrugs, saying, “It’s your money.” He starts pointing to random surfaces around the house, quizzing Roman on the order he’d like to take in christening them.

“My dad keeps trying to bring me back into the fold,” Roman says, panting. Kendall had worked four fingers up his ass, a nonstop assault on his prostate, nearly causing Roman to asphyxiate with Kendall’s dick pressed to the back of his throat, too out of his mind on how amazing everything felt to remember that he needed to do basic shit like breathe. They’d finished nearly ten minutes ago, yet Roman’s still trying to catch his breath, mind finally coming back online enough to speak. “And I’m just like, fuck you.”

“Yeah, what's the deal with that?” Kendall asks.

Roman does his best to shrug while laying down and turns to hide his face against Kendall’s bony-ass shoulder. “I dunno,” he says. “Everybody already thinks I’m an idiot who only got there because my dad’s in charge. Why bother trying to change their opinion if that’s what they’ll think regardless? May as well live it large with dick on tap and a drug hookup to rival UberEats. Speaking of,” he trails off, slinking to the edge of the bed to fish his cigarette case and lighter from his jeans pocket.

He pulls a joint from it and lights up, tossing his shit onto the floor and crawling back to Kendall’s side. He offers his brother a hit, but Kendall waves him off. Belatedly, he recalls the whole recovering-addict thing and almost comments on it, eager to have a soft spot to prod, but stops himself before his need to be a little shit royally fucks this up. Revealing that he knows more about Kendall’s past than he should would only open Roman up to a line of questioning that he has no interest in being confronted with.

“Pussy,” Roman says, because it feels like if he doesn’t give Kendall some semblance of a hard time over it, he’ll be suspicious. Then he finishes his earlier train of thought, “I’m rich either way, right?”

Kendall doesn’t look convinced. “You’ll have to take over anyway though, right? Nepotism being what it is and all. That’s why your dad keeps trying to make you happen?”

Trying to make Roman happen, like he’s a fad that just won’t take off. Sometimes it feels that way to him, like Roman is just another project that his dad’s trying to launch.

“How’d you like being an only child?” Roman asks him. “I’ve got a try-hard freak of an older brother and a younger sister that scares the shit out of me, half the time, and buddy, it fucking sucks, I gotta tell you.”

Kendall frowns at him. “How’d you know I’m an only kid?”

Roman doesn’t miss a step. If there’s one thing he’s actually good at in this world, it’s putting his foot in shit and then lying his way out of it. “You act like an only kid,” Roman shrugs. “Bossy, but good at reading people. I’m textbook,” he twitches both his pointer and middle fingers in the air, accidentally flicking some ash onto the sheets, “middle child syndrome, confirmed by multiple shrinks. Can’t live without people focusing on me at all times.”

“You don’t say?” The dryness of Kendall’s tone is softened by the way he slips his hand into Roman’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Roman will allow the backtalk just the once.

“Anyway,” he stresses, drawing out the vowels, “What’s your point? I should let my dad rebrand me?”

Kendall shakes his head. “Fuck that,” he says. “Rebrand yourself.”

* * *

His brother starts giving him advice on how to act. Roman, oftentimes despite himself, listens to him.

It’s mostly little things, delicate-type shit that Roman honestly can’t see making a difference but that Kendall insists mean the most.

His dad’s been forcing Roman to come in to collect his checks for the past year instead of doing a direct deposit like a sane person, some weird power trip conjoined with his hope that Roman will suddenly crave to become some fucking twisted Wolf of Wall Street, social-climbing, dick-suck office drone. Twice a month Roman heads into the main building, suit on with no tie.

This week he does something different. Instead of fleeing straight to the elevators, he stops by the front desk and chats up the receptionist, the security guard, glancing subtly at their badges but pretending he’d known their names the whole time. He asks about how their week has gone, how their families are. They’re creeped out at first, but he grows on them the longer he’s down there. It’s about ten minutes out of his day, but when he steps onto the elevator it’s with smiles pointed at his back.

On the ride up he pulls out his phone to text Kendall. **everybody fucking loves me** , he types. **better start browsing the unemployment line bitch**.

Kendall texts back as Roman’s walking to his father’s office. **“Browse the line?” Your class is showing.** A few seconds later a picture comes through, a quick shot of Kendall squeezing his hard dick with one hand. **Anyway, browse this**.

Roman pushes open the door and thinks to himself, what a _slut_.

* * *

Kendall’s shift from being his full-time squeeze to still-full-time-squeeze, but also part-time life coach happened six months ago and basically each and every secretary and personal assistant in the building is in love with Roman. It’s not even for anything Roman does, really. He’s polite to them when he drops by to pick up his checks, going out of his way to check in on them and catch up, but Kendall has commandeered one of Roman’s credit cards and routinely sends weekly sushi carts and taco trucks to the building, paid in full and instructed to feed anyone who comes out of the Waystar Royco offices.

He’s pretty much used to Kendall bossing him around in weird ways that gets Roman more horny than angry, most of the time. He still doesn’t see why they’re bothering with this lowkey redemption tour on people that don’t even fucking matter, but Kendall seems really into micromanaging Roman’s life, and he doesn’t have the heart to take that from him. Being a hooker with one client must be boring, and Kendall isn’t stupid. It’s entirely possible that Kendall’s a natural at what Logan’s spent his whole life trying to turn Roman into. He’s got no idea of what his life could have been.

Kendall sighs and digs his hands deeper into the flesh of Roman’s back. “Shit builds up, Roman.” He positions his thumbs right in the most tender part of Roman’s back, and Roman doesn’t bother holding back his hiss, or the groan that follows it. “Be nice to the little guy, let them project onto you what they need to. That karma comes back in the end.”

“That karma comes back in the end,” Roman parrots, aping Kendall’s vocal register. “Fuck off, faggot.” He lets his body sink deeper into the mattress. “You make it sound like I’m the one out here hooking, man.”

“Don’t knock it.” Kendall switches from Roman’s back to his arms, squeezing and working the muscles. “We all out here hoeing for somebody.”

Roman has to laugh. “Damn, Ken, that was beautiful. When’s your mixtape dropping?”

Kendall smacks his ass far too hard to even pretend that it exists in the same zip code as playful, a sharp sting that hurts all the more for how relaxed the rest of him is, pain bright and unexpected. “It dropped; how’d you find it?”

* * *

Roman heads to Kendall’s after a rough dinner with his family, eager to spend time with the one sibling who hasn’t repeatedly sold him up the fucking river for their own gain, away from a father that wants something from him that Roman has no interest in giving.

Kendall’s apartment feels more like home than Roman’s own these days. He would have sold his own place months ago if it wouldn’t have sent warning bells to his father, inviting scrutiny Roman doesn’t want to risk. So he lives there in spirit if nothing else, just as much of his shit around the place as Kendall’s.

Unfortunately for him, Kendall’s in a rare mood when Roman shows up. Practically itching for a fight when all that Roman wants is his typical skill in talking Roman down from the same destructive urge. There’s an open bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter, a full glass next to it. It doesn’t look like Kendall’s had anything to drink yet, but he’s set the trap for himself anyway.

They’re two sides of the same fucked up coin. Sometimes being brothers really fucking blows.

“Alright,” he says, figuring that they’re due for a Roy-style blowout. Kendall’s inaugural, even. First time for everything. “What’s got you all fucked up, huh? Life of luxury got you down? Gilded cage need more diamonds?”

Kendall is madder than Roman first assessed; he looks about ready to throw punches, and Roman’s barely gotten started. “Fuck you, Roman,” he says. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

Roman readies himself to shout something back, but Kendall carries on, words running together in his haste to get them out. “You can barely manage your own fucking life, you know? Pissing away every fucking chance you get. Who the fuck are you to come down on me, huh?”

“Oh boo hoo, Ken,” Roman scoffs. “I pay you a couple G’s a month to fuck me and live in this place for free. Looks to me like you’re a long ways off from your pathetic little childhood. Ditch the fucking baggage already.”

Kendall gets right up in his face, fists clenched at his sides. “Yeah,” he says, and he isn’t yelling anymore, voice intimate, as scary as Roman has ever seen him. “That’s rich, coming from you. Where could I have ended up if I started where you did, Roman?” He asks. Kendall licks his lips and holds Roman’s gaze for a long time.

He steps back and finally breaks their eye contact. He turns to look out the window, drags a hand across his mouth. The sun’s setting, and there aren’t any lights turned on in the apartment. Most of his face is shadowed, Roman unable to get a good read on him. He turns back to Roman and says, “Fuck, it all should have been mine, Roman. I’m Logan Roy’s son too.”

Kendall’s looking at him like he’s expecting Roman to explode.

Roman isn’t sure the right way to play this. He decides on putting all his cards on the table. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m not a fucking idiot; of course I know. Why in the fuck do you think I sought you out in the first place? It certainly wasn’t for your janky-ass face.”

Silence creeps between them. Roman wouldn’t categorize the expression on Kendall’s face as betrayal, from what he can make of it in the waning light from the sky, but that’s only because Roman’s a fucking coward.

“What in the actual _fuck_ ,” Kendall says it mostly to himself.

Roman has never been able to leave well enough alone. “You’re telling me,” he says. “Real question is, how long have you known?”

Kendall shakes his head and makes a move for the glass on the counter. Roman hops in front of him and slides it and the bottle onto the other side of the island, overestimating the counter space in the near-darkness. The sharp sound of glass shattering quickly follows, overtaking the silence.

His brother takes a swing at him, fist connecting soundly with Roman’s cheek, snapping his head back and causing a warm rush of blood to come pouring from his nose. Roman jumps on him before the pain of it can really register, dragging Kendall down onto the floor and throwing his elbows every which way, hoping that a couple might connect.

Kendal’s own head jerks back, and he lets out a wounded sound. Roman takes it at his chance to scramble on top of him and pin his arms close to his sides, sitting on his hips to keep his legs incapacitated.

They breathe heavy into one another’s faces. A few drops of blood drip down from Roman’s nose onto Kendall’s face. His lip is busted from where Roman’s elbow caught him.

Roman leans down to kiss him, and tastes blood when does.

When they finally break apart, Kendall admits, “I knew from the jump. I’ve always suspected who my dad was; I just didn’t know any of you knew about me.”

“I’m the only one who knows.” Licking his lips, Roman shakes his head. “I don’t even think dad does. Or if he does know, he hasn’t checked in on you in a while.”

Kendall nods, like it doesn’t mean anything, but Roman can see the hurt in his eyes. “That’s why I fucking hate him,” Roman says, voice thick. “You’ve never even met the motherfucker and he can still hurt you. It’s so much worse growing up with it, Ken.”

“I wanted to ruin your fucking life,” Kendall says, a confession. “But I just couldn’t do it.”

He looks at Kendall, interested.

“I think the ruthless part of the Roy gene missed out on me.” Kendall looks like it pains him to admit it. “You’re my little brother. And my fucking boyfriend, or whatever. I can’t just sell you out.”

“Wow,” Roman says. “You fucking softie. You should be glad you didn’t grow up with us. Dad woulda fucking eaten you alive and spit you right back out.” His nose has finally clotted itself up enough to stop bleeding, and now Roman can only breathe through his mouth. Great.

He gets himself up onto wobbly knees and holds out a hand to haul Kendall up too. “Your face is fucked, bro.” They’re close enough that Roman can make out that much, even in the dark.

“Yeah, well, you aren’t looking so great yourself.”

Roman trudges over to the couch and falls onto it in a heap, next to where he’d dropped his blazer when he’d first come in. He fishes around blindly in the pocket and pulls out his cigarette case and lighter. “Come over here,” he waves at Kendall. “Smoke some weed with me.”

He lights up and allows himself a moment of stillness, letting the smoke sit inside his lungs for as long as he can stand it. Kendall sits next to him on the couch, but doesn’t reach out for his turn when Roman tries to pass it to him.

“Roman,” he says, “I’m an addict. Water’s basically a gateway drug for me at this point.”

“Oh my god,” Roman groans out every syllable. He makes his body go boneless, legs heavy and having him slide off the couch until he’s sat on the floor.

He rests his cheek on Kendall’s knee as he looks up at him. “I’ll keep you from spiraling or whatever, relax. Nut up and share a fucking doobie with your boyfriend-brother without getting all triggered by it, Jesus.”

It’s completely dark in the living room, the sun having set while they were screaming and throwing punches at one another; Roman can’t make out Kendall’s face from this angle, the shadows making everything undefined, nebulous. He smokes the joint down about halfway before Kendall finally breaks the silence of the room.

“Fuck it,” he says. “Relapsing sounds better than listening to you bitch all night.”

Roman perks up, presses his grin into the fancy, thousand dollar sweats Kendall’s got on. He bites his brother’s knee through them, just so that he can laugh at the annoyed hiss Kendall grits out. “Fuck off, I asked you _once_ ,” Roman says. “Really the Sophie’s choice of peer pressure there.”

“Just pass me the fucking joint.”

Roman’s about to, but then he has a better idea. He gets his legs back under him and resettles himself onto the couch, pressed up right next to Kendall’s side. He takes a big hit, filling his lungs with it. With his free hand he grips Kendall’s jaw, holding his head steady so that Roman can slot their lips together as he exhales into Kendall’s mouth.

He pulls back with a smile, pleased with himself. He hadn’t even noticed Kendall sniping the joint from between his fingers, but he must have, because he’s holding it up to his lips and taking a hit. Roman’s about to ask what gives when Kendall leans right back in and breathes into his mouth, turning it into a kiss before Roman can even think to inhale.

“Woah,” Roman says, after they’ve parted and he finally feels like he can talk again. “Eager for that fix, huh?”

Kendall shakes his head. His eyes are great black disks that shine even in the darkness and there’s just no way that he’s gotten that high this fast, especially not with his past. “Yeah,” Kendall says. “Just not sure which is worse for me.”

Roman likes that, being something that Kendall can’t be without. That his body craves just as much as it needs food or water. A habit that Kendall isn’t able to break, even if he tried.

They finish the joint in between kisses. Roman watches as Kendall stamps out the last of it on some gay ass catch-all dish he’s got on the table in front of the couch. He’s relaxed, so much so that he doesn’t want to fuck around with getting undressed and walking to the bedroom. It doesn’t seem so bad, the idea of falling asleep shoulder-to-shoulder with Kendall right on the couch. It’s the sort of thing they should have shared as children, and Roman’s never been one to outgrow childish things.

“Why the fuck did that asshole get rid of me, huh?” Kendall asks, breaking the quiet. “Would it have been so bad, owning up to his greediness? Was his fucking child not worth that?”

Roman licks his lips. “Yikes,” he says. It’s a topic that’s just way too — much. One that Roman has no idea how to navigate. “Fuck man, I dunno. Fuck him. I had no say in it, y’know? Connor sucked; I would have picked you over him, any day.”

Kendall sighs. His whole body moves with it. Roman can tell that he’s shut his eyes by the way the glassy reflection of them disappears in the pitch-black of the room. He can feel it when Kendall swallows.

“You’re just saying that because I’m the brother that sucks your dick.”

Roman smiles, soft and wide and he’s glad it’s dark, because he knows he must look goofy as shit. “It’s true,” he agrees. “You’re the brother I always dreamed of.”

* * *

He’s in bed with Kendall when the call comes. Roman has to worm out from under the weight of him, not minding his elbows as he struggles to get free. He fumbles for his phone and manages to swipe correctly to answer just in time, groaning out, “what,” his voice thick with sleep.

It’s Shiv on the other line. “Roman,” she says, “Oh my god, dad — oh my god.”

“Fuck,” Roman says. “Fuck fuck, shit, fuck.”

“I’m texting you the address of the hospital. We don’t kn—,” something in her throat clicks. She sucks in a breath before she speaks again. “Just, get here quick.” And then she hangs up on him.

Roman stares as the screen changes back into his wallpaper.

“So,” Kendall’s voice comes from his left, the bedside light blinking on.

“Uh,” Roman says. “Dad’s the in hospital.” It occurs to him that he should offer something, probably. “Do you want to come with me?” The last three words each end up sounding like their own question. Roman realizes how fucking stupid the offer is about halfway through posing it.

Kendall doesn’t even bother calling him out on it. “Yeah,” he says, drawing it out. “My dad died a long time ago, so I’m gonna go ahead and take a miss on this one, buddy.” He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes again. “You have fun though. Good luck.”

Roman can’t say it isn’t justified.

He hurries through dressing and Ubers to the hospital. The rest of the family is a sectioned-off portion of the waiting room, everyone looking worried.

Connor hugs him the moment Roman’s close enough for him to get his arms around, Roman patting him awkwardly on the back in return. “Where were you!” Connor digs his fingers into Roman’s shoulders, holding him at arm's length. “We sent a car to your place but nobody answered.”

“Oh, you know me,” Roman says, fumbling for a dodge. “Always off fucking bitches. I was knee deep in it, man.”

When he heads back to Kendall’s it’s almost been a full day since he left.

Kendall’s in the kitchen, scrolling through his fucking iPad and looking all the world like the deteriorating health of their father doesn’t rate jack-fucking-shit on his list of problems. “How’d it go?” he asks.

Roman envies his detachment. He has no idea what he feels. A very real part of him is slightly pissed that Logan hadn’t had the good grace to just die already, the man lingering on in a ghost state that does nothing but cause awkward problems for all involved. It’s that part that has Roman tossing his keys onto the counter and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“Pretty sure this is my window,” he says.

“That so?” Kendall nods like he expected as much. He gets up and walks to Roman with his cup of coffee. Roman pilfers it off of him and downs half the thing in one go, realizing that it’s fixed just the way he likes it, not Kendall’s usual plain black travesty.

How long must he have been sitting there, Roman wonders, fixing and tossing out tepid cups of coffee as he waited for Roman to come back home. “Guess we’d better get to work then, huh?”

* * *

Roman turns it on.

He shows up at the first of what eventually becomes many emergency board meetings that quickly to overlap, one running right into the other, as the company tries to navigate the storm that is his father’s uncertain future. Everyone thought they would have more time, and it’s like the crisis of the fucking Republic as they scramble to figure out what to do next as the Emperor lays dying.

Roman figures that he may as well live up to his name, and smoozes everyone he comes into contact with, doing his best to hold back the sharper parts of his personality, smoothing the edges as he starts winning people over to his side, even those who used to look down on him.

Most nights he goes home to Kendall. Those he can’t have him holed up in his office, Kendall on speakerphone. The board is so scared shitless that they’re actually keeping quiet about things, which means the only people willing to anonymously go on the record as inside sources are the fucking assistants and secretaries. The very ones that Kendall had him win over all those months ago, and who sing Roman’s praises in a tune even the best PR firm couldn’t buy.

“An expert with knowledge of the inner workings of the company claims that Roman Roy is a choice that goes beyond the typical nepotism, and that the handover should have happened years ago, the company’s recent stock issues for the last few years being reflective of that,” Kendall says, reading off some Bloomberg article article that went up while Roman had been in his most recent meeting. “He is, and it’s a quote here, Rome, the real expletive deal.”

“I can’t wait for them to find out that I’m actually full of expletives! Won’t that be a treat.”

Static crackles over the line. “Roman,” Kendall says, “You’re not as much as a fuck up as you want the world to believe. You’re alright with people, when you want to be. If you just listen to the people around you, a company like this can run its fucking self. You just have to keep shit close to your chest and not be so goddamn impulsive.”

“Listen to people?” Roman spins around in his chair a few rotations too many and has to anchor his foot on the floor, coming to a stop so jarring that it doesn’t help his already queasy stomach. “I’m listening to _you_ , Ken. Fuck these dicksuck lackies.”

Kendall’s sigh doesn’t sound nearly as long-suffering as Roman knows he wants it to. He grins.

“Also,” he adds, “I’ve got an amazing idea. Seriously, you’re going to be mad that I came up with it all on my own. It’s Shakespearian, baby. I’m fucking inspired.”

* * *

Roman has to dig his fingernails into his own goddamn thigh to keep from being obnoxious when the vote goes through. The exec to his right makes a show of shaking Roman hand, and Roman gives him his most tepid smile, as if this isn’t what he’d been aiming towards for weeks now, bluffing strong-chinned resignation as best he can. He’s meant to be the son stepping up to his birthright, now. The hero the company needs, as well as deserves.

His phone lights up in his lap, and he glances down at it. It had done the same thing three minutes earlier, a warning from his buddies down at the front desk, letting him know that his father had just entered the building. This time it’s one of the girl’s closest to the elevator, letting him know that his father has just hit their floor.

He spots Logan through the glass and stands, slipping his phone into his pocket, catching his father’s gaze through the transparent walls and holding it as Logan forces open the glass door.

“Dad,” he says, feigning surprise that the rest of the room exhibits in earnest. “You’re up and moving! It’s so good to have you back. A lot’s happened since your — thing.”

Logan doesn’t sound any worse for wear when he grinds out, “Yeah? I’d fucking say.”

When Roman laughs, it’s genuine. The rest of the room shifts in their seats. This is the funniest goddamn thing Roman’s ever done in his life, and Logan doesn’t know the half of it. “Well, let me give you the more lighthearted news first: Dad, meet my fiance.”

Kendall raises from the seat to Roman’s left, standing next to him. “Hiya, pop,” Kendall says, one of his hands idly redoing the button of his suit.

There’s a pause in Logan’s step, an audible catch to his breath.

That he shows any indication of getting just who Kendall is comes as a genuine shock to Roman; he’d figured that their father had forgotten all about Kendall from that moment he and Caroline had decided to rid themselves of him, long before Kendall had even been born. That the address of the orphanage that Roman had found in that otherwise empty and unmarked folder had been the end of it for Logan.

It’s the first time the two of them have met, but Roman can tell that Kendall seems to have a read on their dad too, not missing the flash of shock and fear that seems to have shot through Logan’s very bones for a split-second before he swallows all of it down, face the mask that Roman had long gotten used to early in his life.

The almost careless smile Kendall’s been sporting suddenly becomes real, sharp and cruel and everything that the Roy blood entitles Kendall to, his birthright. Roman wants to fuck him right there on the boardroom table, in front of their father and everyone else. This whole thing has just become infinitely better, and no matter what card his father tries to play, the old man is fucked.

“You don’t mind me calling you that, do you?” Kendall asks. “Seeing as we’re gonna be family and all.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is a shameless and ridiculous modern mix of Oedipus mythologies with the Prince Hal politicking of Henry IV & V, which gripped my mind when i read your Shakespearian prompt. i hope that you like it and have a wonderful yuletide ♥ thanks so much to lynn for betaing for me.


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